Kate
by the green fluff
Summary: My throat is parched, but I don't think water is the only thing I am thirsty for." One-shot from Katherine Barlow's POV - the scene in which she dies. Very self-explanatory, not to mention rather cliché.


**disclaimer ...**Not mine.  
**a/n ...**I usually write in the Harry Potter fandom, but since we were doing _Holes_ in class I decided to upload a couple of those pieces. We were supposed to do this as a diary entry, but mine turned out as thoughts more than a diary entry. This was originally entitled_Kate Barlow's Thoughts_, by my English teacher. I know. Boring. This is, to be frank, the most boring, clichépiece of crap that I have ever written, but I decided to upload it for the sake of receiving critique.  
This is the scene in which Charles and Linda Walker drag Katherine Barlow to her death - for some reason, the Kate-death scene is my favourite in the whole book. One-shot, as usual. And yes, Kate Barlow is a little insane. This one's a little odd, but as it's a school thing it's not as odd as my other ficlets.

* * *

Trout's dragging me along, forcing me to walk. 

Yes, Charles Walker. The man who I rejected, all those years ago, when I was young and full of life. Trout hasn't changed much – oh yes, he's still selfish, conceited and rude – but I have changed _so much_. I don't care now, and I don't care that I don't care…

Oh. I can hear Linda Miller – no, Walker – say something about "wishing" and "dead".

I'm not listening, but I inform her softly: "I've been wishing I was dead for the last twenty years." _I've been insane for the last twenty years_, I want to add, but I don't feel like telling _Mrs. Walker_ that.

I'm still breathing – panting, rather – but my heart has already died. It died the day I saw Mary Lou's body, lying there lifeless and stony, on the shore of the lake that once was. My heart died with Sam.

I miss him. He's but a distant memory now, but I don't want a memory; I want _him_, warm in my arms. Memories just aren't enough, you know. And my memories – my memories are bittersweet; delicate, shadowy, and so far away.

And sometimes I tell Sam, "It's terrible here; Green Lake dried up," and even though I can hear him reply "I can fix that", I know that Sam's _dead_ and I know _nobody can fix Green Lake anymore_, because the death of Sam ensured the death of Green Lake – I don't know why but it's just one of those things you _know_ – like how you know that Sam is your true love, like how you know that you'll _never find anybody like him again_ even if you spend your whole life searching.

I know I'm insane. I know I am not rational or making any sense. That's good because I can pretend Sam's still alive.

It's just that I never believe it. Pretending isn't enough. It's pathetic to pretend that Sam's still alive, but it doesn't matter of I'm pathetic because there's nothing anyone on this rotten dry wasteland can do about it.

Hmm. Trout Walker wants me to take them to the "loot". The loot…the money that I robbed from that rich man – Yenlats, or whatever his name was. Names don't matter to me now; Sam was the only thing that ever really mattered. I've forgotten so many things but I'll never forget Sam.

The ground's baking but my heart feels as cold as ever. I'm so fragile but I know I'm tough too because I just can't care anymore. I'm exhausted and I stop, topple to the dry ground. My throat is parched, but I don't think water is the only thing I am thirsty for.

Linda snarls, stabs the spade into my back like a spear. I think I can feel something wet on my back – blood or sweat? – but I don't care. I'll never lead them to the loot because it's all their fault, it's all their fault, Trout shot Mary Lou…

I see a pair of red eyes.

A lizard. It must be a lizard. I know I'm going to die. I can die…I want to die…I want this to end…I want the Walkers and their children's children's children to dig forever in this empty wasteland that was once a beautiful lake, trying to find "the loot" that I stole from Stanley Yenlat, or whatever the man's name is…oh…I want to find Sam, they killed Sam, they'll pay for being so racist…my Sam…oh, _Sam_…

It's okay for me to die because Sam will never come alive, but I can die.

The lizard sinks its teeth into my ankle, but I'm too far gone to care about the pain. The venom is agonising in a soothing sort of way, and I'm glad the yellow spots are the last thing I can see – not the gun of Charles Walker. It's okay to feed an animal but it's not okay to be shot by a monster.

I count the spots on the lizard: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…eleven. I smile, because the pain is…somehow comforting.

I'm not thinking straight…my vision is blurring; my hearing is fading.

Linda's screaming and Trout's angry; they're saying something, but I have no idea what. I just laugh, and laugh. Because it infuriates them.

They think there isn't anything to laugh about. I know there is.

_**I'll be with Sam soon.**_


End file.
